


Mustangche

by randomcheeses



Series: What if? [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Gen Fic, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-18
Updated: 2010-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:38:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomcheeses/pseuds/randomcheeses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riza Hawkeye prided herself on being a calm and patient woman,</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mustangche

Riza Hawkeye prided herself on being a calm and patient woman, willing to bear almost any situation in stoic silence and correct the few unbearable ones with only a few well chosen words. It had made her an excellent sniper, an excellent aide, and now an excellent partner/fiancé (well, as soon as Roy worked up the nerve to give her the ring that he didn't know her friend Rebecca had spotted him buying last month).

But there were some days on which even Riza was caught completely off guard and today was one such day. Political circumstances beyond her control had meant that while Roy had spent the last two weeks in Central in conference with Fuhrer Grumman and the other generals, Riza had had to stay behind in East City. He was due home this morning and Riza had got up early to do a quick clean-up in anticipation of this fact.

So when the doorbell rang, Riza answered it before whoever was outside could manage a second ring. As expected, it was Roy, and Riza eagerly drank in the sight of him, automatically checking him for any sign of injury or illness. That was when she saw _it_ and her happiness at seeing him safe and sound was temporarily blindsided by her shock at the _thing _over his upper lip.

"I – you- face- moustache," she managed, adequate words slipping from her grasp.

Roy beamed. "I think it makes me look more distinguished, don't you?" he asked proudly.

Riza reminded herself that she had seen many more terrible things in her life and pulled herself together. "Roy," she said gently, "you look as if you've been drinking chocolate milk and forgot to wipe your face."

And out it came, as she had known it would: the classic Roy 'kicked puppy' Mustang look.

"It does?" he said in his hurt-little-boy tone that made her want to hug him and wrap him in a blanket. "I thought it lent me an air of debonair mystery. _Je ne sais quos,_ as the Cretans say."

"I'm afraid not," she replied. "Hold on a moment." And she went in search of a razor.

Roy stared after his significant other, who, instead of giving him the expected enthusiastic welcome home, had left him standing in the doorway. "It can't be that bad. Can it?"


End file.
